But -- what the hell. I just don't care. I'm in my cups this morning, so damn the consequences.
The film fascinates me precisely because it offers the worst conspiracy theorizing to be found outside the flying saucer subculture. And also because of the title.
What the hell does Loose Change mean in this context? The title appears to be a non-sequitor. This conundrum may seem silly to you, but it has been bugging me for months. Today being Sunday -- the one day when this blog goes off on tangents -- I shall explore this mystery.
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One possible explanation for the name occurred to me while listening to the finest opera ever produced by an American. No, I'm not talking about Porgy and Bess, although that is a remarkable work indeed. I'm talking about John Adams' Nixon in China.
Richard Nixon is the one role I wish I had sung, back when I had a voice -- the best role ever written for a baritone. Stand outside my shower and you might yet hear me belt out his opening number: "News! News news news news news has a has a has a has a kind of mystery!"
If you don't know the work, I should mention that it boasts a remarkable libretto by Alice Goodman -- perhaps the finest libretto ever written for an opera. At this point, I cannot disentangle the things actually said during those days and the words invented by Goodman.
Mao, on changing the world: "I could not change it. I'd be gratified to think that in the neighborhood of Peking, some things will remain." Okay, I'm pretty sure he actually said that. But then we come to his parting shot to Nixon: "I'm growing old and soft. I won't demand your overthrow." And Nixon's comeback: "It's a relief to think I may be spared." Goodman or reality? At this point, I can't be sure!
Those of you old enough to recall those events may be stunned or disheartened to think that one day people will seek out this history only to understand this opera better, just as we learn Florentine politics only to learn why Dante wrote certain passages of the Divine Comedy.
Where was I? Oh yes. Loose Change.
In Act II, the Nixons attend a revolutionary Chinese opera conceived by the fanatical Madame Mao. Through some magical process, Pat and Dick leave the audience and enter into the action of the play.
The plot of the play-within-a-play involves a young working-class woman who gains revolutionary consciousness after an evil warlord whips her nearly to death. The warlord is inhabited by the soul of Henry Kissinger -- who, unlike Dick and Pat, is given a thoroughly unsympathetic treatment.
This opera is how H the K will be known to future generations. The artists always get the last word, and only liberals make art. Revenge is sweet indeed.
After surviving her ordeal, our heroine (that is, Madame Mao's heroine) learns the Maoist spirit and joins the Red Army. She is sent on a secret mission into the city, where she is supposed to seduce and kill the Overseer (a.k.a. Kissinger).
In a sleazy bar, Nixon runs into the Overseer/Kissinger. A drunken Henry K blurts out the following lines:
I'm here to liaise with the backroom boys who know how to liveNixon responds by slipping some folding money into Henry's pocket. "Here, friend. Something for you. You're talking like a real pro." In real life, I wonder who was the mentor and who was the hanger-on?
And me, I contrive to catch a few crumbs
the ringleader's names, the gist of their schemes.
Loose change.
That's when Our Heroine shows up and fails to assassinate Kissinger. Madam Mao gets so pissed off by her inaction that she begins the Glorious Cultural Revolution. What follows is mindless shooting, mass death, chaos, brainwashed hordes chanting "Joy! Joy! Joy!", and then The End of Act II.
Do you think that a clown like Dylan Avery could possibly be hip enough to draw the name of his documentary from a source like this?
Personally, I think this theory gives that turkey way too much credit. But I can't think of any other reason why he would give his lousy film that bizarre title.
